Legacy: The Acclaimed Novel of Elizabeth, England's Most Passionate Queen -- and the Three Men Who Loved Her (50 page)

chance to think things over and see how small and petty his fears really

were. She would never let him down, not after all he had done for her,

Elizabeth—
his
Elizabeth!

He went out into the courtyard and affably patted the placid mule

which waited for him; and as he began the tedious jog south to Windsor,

he found he was full of hope.

t t t

288

Legacy

Passing through the cool corridors of Windsor Castle on his way to the

royal apartments, Robin noted with satisfaction that no guard of gentleman

usher presumed to bar his way or question his right of access to the royal

presence. Nobody questioned him now. Of late it had pleased him to

flaunt his unique privileges quite flagrantly in the face of the old nobility,

and chief among those it amused him to irritate were the Earl of Sussex

and the young Duke of Norfolk. Sussex castigated him openly as an upstart

gypsy; Norfolk, during the course of a dangerously heated exchange, had

advised him to abandon his “preposterous pretensions” to Her Majesty’s

hand. The envious eyes of every man at court were upon him and few

doubted that he would shortly be their new master. But while the fawning

deference of the court was deeply gratifying, it did not serve to mask

Robin’s growing unease; he was still far from sure of winning that prise

which everyone supposed to be so nearly in his grasp. He had rooms

adjoining the Queen’s so that he might be on hand day and night should

she need him; but the arrangement was not made, as the ill-informed

fondly believed, that he might play the lover with greater convenience. As

yet, he had not played the lover at all and the lack of that role had begun

to disturb him greatly.

Cecil’s absence from court had seemed the answer to his anxious

prayer at first—he had been certain it was Cecil who held her back from

him. As soon as the dust settled behind the Secretary’s entourage, Robin

had begun to lay siege to the Queen’s affections, like a man beleaguering a

castle. He had been sure of his ability to breach her defences. No woman

he desired had ever denied the final intimacy, and the removal of Cecil

from the scene had seemed to herald his approaching triumph.

Through the lazy summer days he had bound her closer; mornings

riding in the Great Park, afternoons on the sun-dappled river, evenings

strolling hand in hand across the wooden terrace. She no longer seemed

to care who saw their transparent happiness. Her attendants discreetly

kept their distance—soon they were alone in her rooms and there, as

he began to urge the natural conclusion of their love, he became slowly

aware of something wrong, something missing in her response. She had

become as tense and wary as a hunted fox and the previous evening a

serious quarrel had blown up, causing him to depart in a towering rage

to his own apartment.

He had woken in a sullen mood and gone down to the stables, where

289

Susan Kay

he relieved his feelings by finding fault and bawling at the grooms. He

took a vigorous ride in Windsor Great Park and returned in a better frame

of mind to discover the arrival of the Irish geldings he had ordered. In

spite of their journey they were in prime condition, with proud heads

and gleaming flanks and the promise of good speed. His first thought was

of Elizabeth—she would be pleased. He wondered whether to go to her

now with the news or wait until she joined him for the hunt and have

the pleasure of her surprise.

And then his sister Mary had come down the path with a basket of

roses on her arm, to tell him that the Queen had a headache and would

not be riding today.

His face darkened. He took his sister’s arm and steered her away from

the prying ears of stable boys.

“She doesn’t want to see me—is that it?”

Mary withdrew her arm from his urgent grip. Her voice was curiously

cold.

“The Queen is ill, Robin. If you weren’t so wrapped up in your own

interests you might have noticed that she’s not been well for several days.”

He stared at her uncertainly.

“But we’ve hunted and hawked and danced all week. She never said

anything.”

Mary shrugged.

“She never says anything. Mrs. Ashley has taught me to recognise

the signs.”

He stood grinding the heel of his riding boot into the soft mud, tense

and preoccupied.

“I wish I’d known,” he muttered. “Perhaps it explains—”

Mary watched him for a moment and then laid her hand on his sleeve.

“Robin—what happened last night?”

“Nothing happened,” he said absently, kicking the caked mud off his

boot. “That’s the trouble.”

“But you must have done something to make her so angry. Did you

quarrel with her?”

His head jerked up angrily, as though she had jarred a painful nerve.

“That’s none of your damned business,” he snapped, and turned away

abruptly across the paddock, striding so fast on his long legs that she had

to run to catch up with him.

290

Legacy

He had no desire to talk of last night; how for the first time he had lost

his temper, asked what the devil it was she expected of him, told her he was

not cut out to live like a monk; how he had stormed to the door remarking

angrily that he would settle with Amy whether she liked it or not, that

he was damned if he needed the Queen’s permission, or anyone else’s, to

divorce a wife who was a useless burden; how she had looked at him with

icy contempt and told him that if he left the court now he need not trouble

to return. An ugly quarrel that had placed everything at risk and all because

he had lacked the sensitivity to look beneath her unreasonable attitude.

But, Christ—what
did
she want of a man? What had the Lord Admiral

offered to sweep away her resistance? Was it necessary to throw her on a

bed and cut her dress to pieces to arouse her interest? Perhaps he had been

too much the gentleman—

Mary was at his side, her pretty face creased with anxiety.

“Robin, it’s not safe to quarrel with her. You can’t back her into a

corner and take her by force.”

He stared across the paddock to where the grooms were trotting the

Irish geldings for his approval.

“I must have her, Mary. I must.”

“But—if she does not want you—”

He swung round and grabbed her arm roughly.

“What has she said to you?”

“Nothing.”

“For Christ’s sake, she’s fond of you—and there’s precious few women

she does like—she must have told you
something.”

Mary moved away angrily.

“I won’t spy on her for you, Robin. She’s been good to me since I

came to court and I owe her loyalty.”

“You owe me a sister’s loyalty.” He shook her roughly by the shoul-

ders. “Doesn’t that count for anything any more?”

“You’re so like Father,” she said suddenly. “Always wanting the moon,

never happy with anything less—if you’re not careful you’ll end the same

way. You’re pushing too hard and no one’s indispensible to her.”

“Except Cecil!” he said bitterly and let his hands fall in a half-shamed

gesture. “He seems to be the only one she really trusts. I wish to God I

knew what it is between the two of them.”

Mary was silent and her glance was touched with pity. She was

291

Susan Kay

very close to Robin, but she knew his faults and her primary attach-

ment was now to Elizabeth. If she had to take sides, she would support

her mistress.

“Robin,” she said softly, “give it up. The Queen is not for you.”

“We’ll see,” he said grimly and tugged the basket from her arm. “Give

me those roses. I’m going to her now, alone and unannounced—and I

mean to find out, one way or another, where I stand.”

And so it was that he wound his way through the Presence Chamber

and the Privy Chamber, to the door of the Bedchamber, where the

Captain of the Guard, meeting his arrogant glance, let him pass without a

murmur. He stood at length in the inner sanctum, a large, sunny, stone-

walled room which housed the state bed, where the heavy curtains were

partly drawn to shield the occupant from the bright light.

Mrs. Ashley sprang up from her tapestry screen and her chair creaked

with the violence with which she had vacated it.

“How
dare
you come in here unannounced!” she hissed. He put both

hands around the waist of this elderly viper and swung her gently out of

his path to the bed.

Once there, he drew the curtain quietly and hesitated. Elizabeth lay

quite still on her pillows, her unpainted face very pale, her eyes closed.

Only the faint tremor of her lids betrayed the fact that she was fully aware

of his presence and only pretending to be asleep. If his intuition had

played him false, the piece of
lèse-majeste
he had in mind would probably

catapult him into an outer darkness from which he might never emerge.

On the other hand—

He turned the rose basket upside down and emptied the contents over

her; Mrs. Ashley blanched with horror as the Queen sat up.

“You
bastard
!”

He caught Elizabeth’s hand, kissed it, and said with an impertinence

that was almost suicidal, “So
that’s
what makes us such a perfect pair!—

I’ve often wondered.”

Behind his back, Kat sucked in her breath with a sharp, gurgling gasp

of incredulity. The Queen stared at him in silence and there was an

endless moment in which he heard his own heartbeat hammering louder

and louder inside his head, before she lay back on her pillows and, still

watching him, said with inscrutable calm, “Kat—you can go now.”

“Go, madam—go?”

292

Legacy

“Oh, I don’t think he’s about to rape a sick woman—we all know

what a perfect gentleman he is!”

Mrs. Ashley withdrew in frigid disapproval and Robin watched her

departure with satisfaction.

“Get these damned things off me,” said Elizabeth when the door had

closed, “and if just one of them pricks me, you insufferable pig, you’ll be

extremely sorry.”

He smiled. “Madam, if I ever prick you it won’t be with a rose.”

He leaned over the bed with an exploring hand and she bit him.

“Vampire!” He jerked back and sucked his finger. “Look at that!

You’ve drawn blood.”

The Queen reached out and took a golden paperknife from the

bedside table, then lay back on her pillows and touched its gleaming edge

with the tip of her tongue.

“Come closer,” she smiled, “and I may draw a good deal more.”

The point of the knife flashed in the sunlight, teasing, provocative,

edged with just sufficient genuine danger to make him pause for a second

before he lunged forward and pinned both her hands behind her head on

the pillow. The knife slipped from her grasp and fell to the floor; they rolled

together across her bed, laughing like small children romping in a meadow.

At length he lay beside her on the coverlet, smoothing the hair back

from her temples.

“About last night,” he began uneasily, “if I had known, then natural y—”

“You would not have behaved like a boring boy in search of his

first whore?”

“I could have been more—reasonable.”

“Oh,” she said innocently, “were you being unreasonable?”

“You certainly appeared to think so.” He smiled cautiously, not quite

sure of her mood even now. “You were in such a rage I half expected to

find myself under guard this morning. It’s the first time we’ve quarrelled

since we were children.”

She began to unfasten the silver buttons on his doublet.

“We’re not children now,” she said softly.

He smiled at her, suddenly sure of her invitation.

“Sometimes I think you never were,” he said and bent his head to

kiss her deeply. Her arms closed around him. He loosened the ribbon

at the neck of her nightdress and slipped his hand inside to cup the

293

Susan Kay

warm softness of her breast. Her body arched with desire beneath

him, a sudden urgent arousal which told him that at last it would all

happen. Everything.

Deft from years of practice was the hand which freed him from the

cumbersome codpiece and then explored with knowledgeable skill,

finding no need to delay the moment of their satisfaction. He lowered

himself for the final act. In that same moment her eyes opened full on

his face and every soft, seductive curve of her body went rigid in his

embrace. He was strong enough and mad enough to have forced her on

to the end, but she struggled free of his lips just long enough to cry out.

One word, one anguished syllable made him release her as though she

were suddenly white hot to his touch.

For the name she cried was not his!

He stared down at her, and she clawed away from him into the pillow.

He was left kneeling beside her with his codpiece dangling absurdly,

feeling, for all his sudden limpness, as though he had been turned to